The Bigger Picture
by Harriet Hopkirk
Summary: Dennis Creevey definitely does not get the bigger picture.
1. PRANK STRIKES HOGWARTS, ONE SUSPENDED

**Teddy Lupin, 17, godson of acclaimed Wizarding hero Harry Potter, blows up half a dungeon and endangers the lives of professors and students. Pictures and details inside, as well as how to recognise cat hairs from dog hairs.**

They say a picture paints a thousand words, but for Dennis Creevey, they also pay his rent.

Alone in his tiny cubicle, he shifted through hundreds of photographs, the eyes of different people staring up at him as they smiled and grinned into the camera lens. He strained his eyes; the pitiful light from the dwindling oil lamp made it difficult to see the various moving people in the photograph.

Dennis glanced at his watch and saw the minute hand crawl past the six o'clock mark. A bell rang somewhere in the corridor, and it coincided with the shifting of chairs backwards, the yawns and groans as people stretched, the idle chatter of people finally free of work. The day's toil was done.

The people in the photograph on his desk were encouraging him to stay, to finish checking this last lot of pictures, a task that needed to be finished by tomorrow morning. _That was the right thing to do_, Dennis agreed, _but it was also the boring thing to do._

It was time to go home. Today had been another in a long string of bad days, and he rubbed his eyes free of tiredness.

As he sorted through the many reels of film and the copies of photographs that littered his already untidy desk, he wondered how long he had been doing this, and how long his landlord would be waiting - lurking in the shadows - until Dennis returned home so that he could jump out and demand his money.

It turned out pictures were infinitely better at painting a thousand words.

It would probably take the landlord just around five and half minutes to move from his flat into the landing, taking into account the minor heart defect, the low angle of the chair he usually wallowed in, and the effort involved in putting down his magazine and moving the bowl of cheesy snacks from his lap to the nearby table.

_Probably, _Dennis reasoned, _but highly likely. _He would get away with it for another day if just ran a little bit faster.

Dennis packed up his things, shoving the pictures unceremoniously into his rucksack (at least they hid the half-eaten pumpkin pasty and the lone sickle rolling around at the bottom) and shuffled awkwardly out of his booth, grabbing his anorak on the way out.

"Oi, Creevey! Could you possibly just have a look at…"

Dennis kept his head down, and barged his way through the dwindling crowd. Home, to his tiny flat with a broken bed-frame, a pot of week-old stew and his newest copy of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Home, to an angry landlord and an angrier letter from his mother.

And, as he pressed the elevator button for the ground floor, Dennis wondered whether life would get more exciting by itself, or whether he would have to do all the work himself.

* * *

Teddy Lupin had always hated running, and this time it was made all the worse by the people chasing him down the hill towards the gamekeeper's hut. His breath was laboured as he galloped over the tumbling tree roots and the boulders, easily avoiding the patches of wet grass that would have resulted in grazed elbows and a detention.

He hadn't meant to set the dungeon alight. It was all just a misunderstanding. Fred, in his amateur, extrovert ways, had decided it was a good idea to add frog spleen to an infusion of wormwood and rat's liver, and it had all gone awry from there.

But of course, Teddy was the one to blame.

He swerved around an oak tree, pausing for a second in its shadow to see whether his pursuers were far behind. _Stupid, stupid Fred._ He should have resisted the puppy dog eyes and go on alone, as planned. He had just wanted someone to whom his skills and tricks could be entrusted after he left this place, and Fred was the only willing volunteer - the grasshopper to his master, so to speak.

"He's over here! I just saw him! By the tree!"

And then Teddy was flying over the grounds again, his robes swinging behind him. If he could just get beyond the gates - just a few more yards - he would be safe, hidden within the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade. He would lay low. He would sit down with a nice butterbeer and a copy of the Daily Prophet and contemplate the day's work. Congratulate himself on avoiding the wrath of Professor Pennyhugh. It was just beyond this inexplicably large boulder...

But then, suddenly, something large and hairy was blocking his path, and he went careering into its back. He fell back onto the damp ground. The voices of his professors were soon within earshot.

"Curse you, Hagrid," he mumbled.

* * *

"Dennis! Dennis, wait!"

It took Dennis a few moments to realise that someone was calling his name.

Dennis had never really interacted with his colleagues in the office - apart from Bernard, the strange old man who worked on the other side of his booth, who was in charge of nature photography (several billywigs were now roosting in the filing cabinet and Dennis was pretty sure Bernard was incubating a basilisk egg underneath the desk lamp). There was Linda, the strange dinner lady. And then there was Sally, but that was different.

So he was surprised when a young woman approached him, curly hair bouncing. Her face was strangely angular, Dennis supposed, but he wouldn't call her ugly. She would be nice to photograph, maybe in low light and low focus. He had trouble recalling her name and so simply stared at her.

"Hello," he said. It was better than trying to guess her name and failing, therefore avoiding the awkward shuffle and strained apologetic look.

She wore plain, sensible clothes that were too big for her and her thick, dark and curly hair was pulled up into a scruffy ponytail. She had failed to scrub a splotch of ink from behind her right ear. She was carrying a vast pile of articles, which she dumped onto the front desk and then turned to face him.

"Meredith, remember? From yesterday? You asked me about double-checking some names."

Dennis nodded quickly, as if he hadn't forgotten. She started organising the pile of parchment into separate sections and slotting them into various trays. She worked quickly and efficiently, and she talked at the same time.

"It turns out that Mr Henry Lemington-Smythe _is_ getting married to Lucinda Whitfield on Monday. There was a bit confusion about his gambling habits but now everything is fine and dandy."

Dennis nodded, as if he didn't already know this information. He slotted his own sorted photographs into the trays.

Meredith had finished organising her papers and now just lurked in front of him. She pushed a piece of stray hair behind her ear. Her cheeks had turned a strange pink colour and Dennis wondered what was going on. He had heard about stress-induced seizures, and copy hour was always tough going.

"A couple of us are going to get a drink, if you wanted to join. The cafe downstairs has a new slightly dodgy liquor license," she said, laughing weakly. She was talking far too quickly, and a sheen of sweat had blossomed at her brow. He watched her hair bobbing slightly as she spoke to him. She pushed her glasses further up her nose. "I mean, if you don't want to then that's fine, I suppose..."

"I've actually got to go."

"Oh, is your wife expecting you home?"

"I'm not married." He wondered why Meredith was looking at him so intently, her bright brown eyes gazing at him. A faint blush traced her cheeks. She looked better with colour in her cheeks, and Dennis believed she would look better if she wore reds and pinks, rather than the strangely murky green she was currently sporting.

"So you're meeting your girlfriend?"

"I don't have one," he said, trying to work out why Meredith's facial expression was one of complete happiness. Surely he wasn't _that_ exciting. He saw her mouth form the word 'boyfriend' and, coupled with her quizzical look, he quickly added, "listen, Maureen..."

"Meredith," she corrected. Dennis shuffled awkwardly and sent her a strained, apologetic look.

"Right. I've really got to go. I've got to get up early tomorrow."

"Of course, of course. Maybe another time." Her voice was weaker now, and her face was flushed. She looked at her toes and so did Dennis. Her shoes were sensible too, and matched her rather holey cardigan. Meredith also had a cat, Dennis could tell, from the collection of short hairs on her mid-calf and the three parallels scratches on her right arm and the faint whiff of loneliness.

Cats were fun to photograph, kittens especially. Dress a kitten up in a bow tie and photograph it, and it would make anybody's day. Sally always laughed at those.

Dennis pulled the corners of his mouth upwards, and Meredith smiled. A paper message was zooming around her head and, still looking at Dennis, she reached up and caught the fast moving thing in her fist. It stayed struggling in her hand. Dennis readjusted the strap of his backpack again, wondering what was going on, why Meredith was staring at him intently, whether he had left the stove on, whether that black and white close-up of his grandmother's hands really was that noteworthy...

"Bye, then, Dennis."

He nodded again before turning sharply on his heel and leaving.

* * *

"I can't believe you did this, Teddy."

"They were asking for it."

"Really? The dungeons were asking for it?"

Teddy slumped in his chair as his godfather whispered words of disappointment and annoyance in his ear. The portraits of various headmasters glared down at them from above, and Teddy felt small and ashamed of himself. It hadn't been a good idea to run, probably. He should have thought of an exit strategy that didn't involve that much exercise. He was still struggling to catch his breath. Teddy should have summoned his broomstick - that was a good idea that had never been done before, and it definitely wasn't like he had heard the story again and again at Christmases and birthdays and parties.

"What do you think your grandmother is going to think?"

"That it's funny," Teddy said, but Harry shook his head. He continued. "I just don't understand why you're being judgmental, it's not like you - or Dad, for that matter - had the cleanest of sheets when it came to this sort of stuff."

"I shouldn't have given you the Marauder's Map."

"Yep, that's definitely where it all went downhill. You trying to be the 'cool' godfather."

"Excuse me that is just..."

"Mr Potter? Mr Lupin? Sorry to keep you waiting."

The Headmaster entered his study and as Harry stood up to shake his hand, Teddy sunk lower into his chair to avoid eye contact. Professor Pennyhugh was notoriously harsh on pranksters - one year he had suspended Jimmy Fodder for simply planning some elaborate scheme. Admittedly it was a thoroughly ridiculous project involving various explosions and traps involving cakes and cookies, but the slight to the pranking community was still felt. People were terrified of the Headmaster now.

Apart from Teddy obviously, who possessed the Marauder's Map and his godfather's invisibility cloak, and used them both to great advantage. He was in another league. A league of his own. A league that all the other Hogwarts pranksters' could only aspire to be in. He was good at what he did. There was no reason for Pennyhugh to persecute talent, was there? He actively encouraged when it came to things like studying, or Quidditch, or Gobstones - whatever that was.

"I gather, Mr Potter, that you comprehend the seriousness of the situation."

Harry coughed awkwardly. "I do."

"And that this is _not_ the first occasion in which we've caught Mr Lupin doing something like this."

"I understand."

Pennyhugh turned to Teddy this time, and stared down at him. "How about you, Teddy? Do you recognise the seriousness of what you have done?"

"I suppose."

The Headmaster sighed, and scribbled something down on a sheet of parchment on his desk. Harry elbowed Teddy in the ribs, which made him almost cry out. His godfather was staring at him, mouthing words that Teddy couldn't understand... 'apologise', maybe, or something similar. Teddy ignored him. There was no use in doing that now. If he was going to be sorry about it, he shouldn't have done it in the first place. Pennyhugh would know that he was just sorry that he got caught.

And where was Fred? His protegé should have been here as well. He was mainly to blame.

"Our usual procedure with situations like this is to suspend the student for three days, minimum, depending on the nature of the crime. Mr Lupin will have to serve out this punishment, I'm afraid."

Teddy inwardly smiled. He would get to spend several days with his grandmother, baking cakes and sitting in rocking chairs, talking about his parents and his grandfather and the good old days. He wouldn't have to do homework - just some boring essay about how would never do it again, like he had to write for when he lured Felicity Shipley into that Vanishing Cabinet. And summer was around the corner - this way, it would be able to start early.

"But," Pennyhugh continued, "because this 'prank' could have easily endangered the lives of several students and teachers, we're asking this time that Teddy do something extra... something that shows he is worthy of being a Hogwarts student and capable of integrating into the outer wizarding community."

Teddy sat up. How dare Pennyhugh suggest he was some sort of social outsider, unable to socialise because of his fascination with explosions and practical jokes? Teddy had plenty of friends, boys and girls. They all liked him, he reckoned. Well, they laughed at his jokes.

"We want Teddy to take up some sort of internship over the summer. We've already arranged something at the Daily Prophet. He starts a week after term ends."

"But my summer!" Teddy blurted out. "I had plans!"

"I'm sure you did," Pennyhugh said. "But if you don't go through with this, you will not be able to return to Hogwarts to finish your education and complete your NEWTs. I'm sorry, Teddy, but the situation has called for some serious action."

Teddy scowled. He ignored Harry as he stood up to shake the Headmaster's hand and apologised on his godson's behalf. He ignored the Headmaster's smug smirk as he stood up and stomped out of the office. He ignored whatever Harry was saying to him on the journey back down to the Gryffindor common room, and the catcalls and jeers of his housemates.

All because of Fred Weasley. Never add frog spleen to fusion of wormwood and rat's liver. It just results in a whole load of running, apologies, time wasted and a whole summer down the drain.


	2. GROOM GAMBLES AWAY HIS HEART

**Lucinda Whitfield leaves groom abandoned at altar as she runs away from fairytale wedding in Cotswolds countryside. Pictures by Dennis Creevey. More information on gambling habits and why everyone is drinking lemonade on page seven.**

"I'm bored."

"You said."

Teddy was sitting on a chair in the garden, sunning himself in the pleasant weather. The ground around him was littered with various projects and activities that he had picked up and then discarded as they failed to eliminate the tedium he felt: books, comics, even the opening sentences of his apology essay. His grandmother sat in the chair next to him.

"Is there anything I can do?" Teddy asked.

"Well there is some laundry in the..."

"Yeah, I'm all right."

He picked up a piece of gravel from the ground and threw it towards the pond. There was a croak, a ribbit, and something fell into the water with a splash. Teddy shrugged.

"I'm bored."

His grandmother stood up, picking up two empty glasses. She tutted quietly, and Teddy frowned. She had been unspeakably different since he almost blew up a dungeon and got suspended from school. He wanted to put it down to her being a little older, but he knew he couldn't. Maybe she was a little wiser - wiser to his pranks and his school grades, and she was realising that she couldn't let him get away with it this time.

"I know what you're going to say."

"What's that, Ted?"

"That you're disappointed in me."

His grandmother ruffled his hair affectionately.

"I'll get more lemonade."

He watched her walk back into the house, noticing the way she winced and rubbed her hip. She had never appeared this old before - he supposed that things had changed since he had been at school, and now she liked to take more naps in the afternoon and not walk very long distances. Harry hadn't said anything. Maybe it was just a natural process.

He saw an owl flutter down and perch on the fence, a letter trapped in its beak. He got up to get it, sauntering across the garden in the midday heat. He really should help his grandmother with the laundry, he thought, and perhaps finish that essay. He felt a wave of productivity surround him that would grip him for the next five minutes and then dissolve into a pit of procrastination that would result in his room being the tidiest it has ever been.

Teddy opened the letter. It was from Pennyhugh. It outlined various details about the whole Prophet thing, and how he expected the essay tomorrow morning.

All he wanted to do this summer was to sit in his grandmother's garden, perhaps babysit a couple of times, design more and more elaborate pranks and hone his running skills so that making a quick exit wasn't so much of a challenge, and would become a more viable option in future escapades.

Teddy didn't want to do an internship at the Prophet. He didn't want to sit around and make cups of coffee for people who believed their word was law and fabricated lies and stories at every turn. It would not change his life or put him in a better place for employment, he wouldn't learn vital skills. Teddy would just be bored.

He crumpled up the piece of parchment and threw it over his shoulder. There was a croak and a ribbit and something fell into the water with a splash.

Damn frog.

* * *

White lace swished along green grass, and the patter of footsteps dissipated with every passing moment. The shouts and gasps of surprise, even a pleading cry, were muffled by the booming sounds of the organ. The flock of doves burst free of their cages in an unexpected flurry of melodrama.

Dennis captured those passing moments.

People sat in the pews, facing the open doorway, near where Dennis was standing. He had arrived late, entering at the same time as some pertinent vows. People thought he was here to protest the marriage - faces turned towards him, wide-eyed and staring, gossip pressing at the tips of their tongues, but he just raised a hand in apology and took his place near the back. It should have given the congregation some idea of what was to come, prepared them emotionally for the vision in white running away from the chapel and the trauma that was to follow.

People were still whispering and giggling as the doors closed with a slam. The mother of the bride was weeping, and the father was shouting mercilessly at some small pageboy. The groom was dancing and whooping and kissing one of the bridesmaids. Dennis took a photo of that, too. Dennis watched as a small boy, dressed to the nines in elaborate velvet dress robes, picking his nose. Dennis raised the camera to his eye, focused, and pressed the shutter button. He doubted the paper would publish it, but he found it funny all the same. His mother promptly reprimanded the boy.

Finally, they started to leave in dribs and drabs, still speaking words of slander and curiosity. Dennis didn't care. He shut his camera off, packing it carefully in his case and stalked out of the chapel, into the dreary foggy weather. He unearthed a sherbet lemon from a pocket within his too-large overcoat and slipped it into his mouth.

Dennis had no doubt that this debacle of a wedding would be splashed all over the society section.

He had never really understood the preoccupation with the lives of other people. To Dennis, there was something so inherently boring about the people that surrounded him now, and the petty arguments and slanderous comments that seemed to send the Prophet's readership reeling. Fresh scandals would eclipse it eventually, and those new stories' more piquant details would draw the gossip away from this old drama.

He just found it all so boring. Even he could have guessed that the groom was having an affair with the bridesmaid from the lipstick on his collar and the perfume. And he could see that he was still gambling from the nervous twitch of his fingers and the strong stench of cigars. He could see Evelyn over there now, quill in hand, waiting for the groom's comment while being chastised by the bride's mother.

It was all so boring, so hideously and ridiculously monotonous. Turn up at some fancy party or wedding, some gala or ceremony, and take photos of people you don't the name of and then send them to Evelyn so she can comment on their lifestyle and their livelihood and their inner most secrets. Aside from the dreary monotony, Dennis felt guilty - maybe some of these people didn't want him here, didn't want him invading their special day.

Dennis looked around, at the spoilt children and the gossiping broads, at the drunken men with their red noses and bulging bellies. The state of these wizards and witches had certainly declined since the great days of Harry Potter - photos of him still appeared in the photo albums stored in his brothers' room back at his parents' home. Dennis supposed that these attempts at the celebrity - appearing drunk and engaging in various indiscretions - were these people's way to achieve what Potter had. But then again, nothing would compare to saving the world from the darkest wizard of all time - certainly not some ludicrous affair with the bridesmaid and a gambling addiction.

Evelyn called him over, and he outlined the details of some of the photos, pointing out different captions and names of the people in them. He would go back to the office, get them developed, slip them into her in-tray and then head home.

"You know Egbert wants you for this meeting? This afternoon? His assistant told me to remind you?"

Dennis stared into Evelyn's lined face. He had no knowledge of this meeting - it must have been the note fluttering annoyingly next to his ear for the majority of his journey in the building elevator. He hadn't brought a tie to work - and the editor was notoriously strict with dress codes. He would have a nervous breakdown if he ever left his neat and tidy office to talk to the mere mortals at their writing desks; lots of short skirts and untucked shirts.

"What's it about?" Dennis asked, as Evelyn hitched her bag over her shoulder, looking over Dennis' shoulder at the departing wedding guests.

"Some intern thing. Something about discipline." She raised her eyebrow suggestively, as if she thought this was some disciplinary hearing - she thought that Dennis was in trouble and he was being punished for some indecent act.

"Suitably vague, thank you."

"I'd apologise, Dennis," she said, "but it's not my business."

And she disapparated, and left Dennis alone surrounded by tiny flower girls who wanted sherbet lemons.

* * *

"Oh, just stop!"

Teddy stared at her - at her long blonde hair, the blue eyes, and the soft sheen of sweat decorating her forehead. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a frown as she stared down, into her glass of lemonade. He could hear her breathing heavily in the evening heat. They had tried to escape it by moving into the cool of the kitchen, but they couldn't. Teddy could feel it creep over him now, sticking his shirt to his skin, his palms wet with sweat.

"What?"

Victoire looked up at him then, apologising with her eyes.

"Stop complaining," she said quietly, "please."

Teddy scowled. "My whole summer is ruined! Wouldn't you complain?"

"No, because I would have known that it was my own fault. I would have known that I had done to myself. It isn't anybody else's fault, Ted."

There it was - the quiet, cold tone of disappointment that cooled the sweat on his forehead. It had been the same when Victoire had opened the door to find him standing there, like she had been waiting for someone more exciting to visit her. Teddy mumbled something about Fred but then the room fell silent.

"I see how it is," he finally said.

"You do?"

"You're not on my side."

Victoire sighed. "You make it very difficult to be."

They both heard Louis' cries from upstairs, and Fleur's worried mumblings and hurried footsteps. Teddy didn't understand what Victoire was saying, didn't understand the confused and angry look on her face - he had never associated that with her.

"You haven't once asked me how my term has got, what _my _plans are for the summer, what exams I have to revise for, what homework I've got, whether I'm seeing anyone, what my friends are doing... anything. You arrived here, waiting for me to get home from school so I can listen to you whine and cry and whine again. You didn't give me time to unpack, or shower, or change - to breath, really."

"You said you wanted to see me." Teddy pouted.

"Because I'm sick of my little sister and my baby brother. I don't want to have to spend the whole summer looking after them. Even Fred's been hopelessly infuriating after getting away with the prank..." Teddy opened his mouth to answer, but she continued, putting a stop to his grumbling. "I was hoping for some intelligent conversation besides Babbity Rabbity."

"Her stump doesn't half cackle," Teddy replied. He smiled weakly, hoping for her to respond, hoping that he wasn't in her bad books - that a little joke from their childhood would put it right - but her expression remained stony.

"But instead I come home to you complaining about how you've got this wonderful opportunity out of something that you should have been more severely punished for... people would die for a possibility to work at the Prophet. I know I would."

"That's because you're stupid." Teddy frowned. "Wait... so you think this is good for me? You think, _like Pennyhugh, _that this will help mould me into some functioning member of the Wizarding society?"

Victoire glared at his sarcastic tone. "I think that will help you realise your potential. There's more to life than pranking."

"So you don't think I'm a functioning member of Wizarding society?"

"I didn't say that."

Victoire got up and refilled her glass. She didn't offer Teddy any.

"I can't believe you're against me on this," Teddy said.

She put the jug down with a rather needlessly aggressively slam. She opened her mouth to speak, but then just stared at him, with something like pity in her eyes - and perhaps more disappointment. He avoided her gaze, and suddenly found the patterns in the tablecloth extremely interesting.

Suddenly he felt disappointment in himself - Victoire was really his only true friend, the constant steadfast of his summers at home, the sometime accomplice at Hogwarts. She had her own friends though, being in a younger year, but she still smiled at him in the corridor, sat with him at dinner.

He hated to be alone, but other people bored him - all of them, apart from Victoire.

Victoire was stared out of the kitchen window. Her sister was dancing through a sprinkler while her mother laughed. Bill was watching Louis waddle around, his little fat legs almost hidden in the tall grass. Teddy felt a small stab of jealousy - she was watching her family, her mother and her father and her siblings, all alive and well. He remembered the small, framed picture of his parents he had in his bedroom, and he felt different, sadder.

But Teddy pushed the feeling away quickly. He didn't like sentiment; too clingy, too cloying. He liked pranking and summer holidays and his grandmother. He supposed Harry was all right sometimes, and his children. He had liked Victoire too, he reckoned, but not now, not now that she was suggesting he was unfit to mingle with the rest of wizardkind.

"I suppose you're going to say that my parents were example citizens, and that they would have been disappointed in me."

Victoire shook her head, the sun still on her face. "I didn't know your parents."

"What, so I should go out there and ask Bill and Fleur what they think Remus and Tonks would have thought of my situation? Ask them all the gory details?"

"Why are we suddenly talking about your parents?"

"You brought it up."

"I didn't."

"You're an idiot," he retorted and she scoffed at him.

Another long silence, and Teddy knew the conversation was over. She kept staring out of the window when he said goodbye, and she half-heartedly invited him round for dinner sometime soon. He told her he had plans. As Teddy disappeared into the green flames, he saw her leave through the back door and scoop her baby brother up into her arms.

* * *

Dennis rearranged the papers on his desk for the sixth time. Everything was perfect, at right angles, and he had even polished his desk nameplate and put on a tie. Admittedly, he felt constrained and claustrophobic with a bit of material tied around his neck, but it was the thought, and the overly threatening gaze of his boss, that counts.

Now, they were just waiting for the boy.

Apparently, the incident for which the boy was being punished had been in the paper, along with photographs of blackened walls and a professor wearing a bandage under his overly flamboyant hat. Nothing remarkable, Dennis had thought as the editor had forced the paper under his nose, nothing like those Weasley twins. There wasn't even a displaced brick or a knocked over cauldron.

The editor had slunk out of his office five minutes after the boy was meant to be here. He had an important meeting, and it was crucial that he didn't miss it, but he had instructed Dennis to sit at his desk and wait.

"You look smart, Dennis," Bernard croaked from the other side of the booth, not looking up from his picture of a hinkypunk, and Dennis loosened his tie.

He was getting bored. It was already twenty minutes after the beginning of his lunch break, and the boy still had not arrived. He hadn't been flattered when the editor had decided that Dennis would be a suitable mentor for a delinquent boy, forced into an internship because of his unruly behaviour.

Dennis didn't understand why he had picked him. Although he has assumed that the boy wouldn't turn up, he did not know what he would have done with him if he had. Dennis supposed that he would have just followed him around, while Dennis showed him how to take a photograph, develop it, and put it in an in-tray.

He understood why the boy hadn't turned up. What sixteen-year old would want to give up his summer for this? Why would a sixteen-year old want to spend his summer in an overly hot booth with an old man with a hinkypunk and himself?

"I would give up, Dennis," Bernard continued. "Go and get a sandwich."

Dennis slipped his tie off, and grabbed his wallet. Egg and cress, he reckoned.


	3. DARING DEEDS AT DAILY PROPHET

**Teddy Lupin performs daring deeds on first day at Daily Prophet - shows great pranking prowess after previous blunders in Hogwarts dungeon. Hearts broken! Eyes deceived! Exclusive with Editor Egbert on page eight!**

"So... Teddy, is it?"

"I thought we'd established that."

Dennis looked at him again, but didn't make eye contact. The boy had been up late, and slept late - judging from the bags under his bloodshot eyes and his generally disheveled appearance. He was staring at Dennis, his unfocused eyes only half open, breathing heavily in the heat of the small cubicle.

It was hard to believe that this boy was considered some sort of pranking mastermind, that people's lives had been in danger when he had almost blown up that dungeon, and that, almost remarkably, he had devised some wonderfully imaginative plan to get out of this internship. Looking at the boy now, Dennis wouldn't have believed that he possessed that sort of ingenuity.

"And is that," Dennis began, and the boy seemed to jerk awake again at his words. "Is that short for something?"

"Yes."

"Right."

"Edward."

"Hmm..."

"Edward Remus Lupin."

"Yes."

The two sat in silence after that, and just watched as Bernard shuffled in with some strange chicken-octopus hybrid that squawked and unfolded its eight wings threateningly, showing the suckers on the underside. The boy flinched.

"I thought your plan was very clever," Dennis said, and the boy looked at him, cautious at the compliment. He raised one eyebrow.

"Thank you," he replied. They fell into an uncomfortable silence and during it, Dennis realized he was meant to be teaching the boy something - but what, he didn't know.

* * *

**3** **days** **earlier**:

"You know how you said that you would kill for an internship at the Daily Prophet?"

Victoire looked up at him, frowning. "You're still going on about this?"

"How about... how about you _actually _kill me and then take my place? Ooh, ohhh - instead we could get you Polyjuiced up or something, maybe claim you were at the bad end of a backfired charm..."

Fred snorted. "That's the worst idea I've ever heard."

Teddy deliberately ignored him, and looked down at his notebook again, crossing out the idea. They were at the Burrow, and while the grown-ups were wining and dining around the massive garden table, Teddy had led Victoire and the others into the sun-dappled orchard, where he was busy deliberating his next plan of action concerning the demise and destruction of his summer plans due to some idiotic internship.

No letter had arrived from the Prophet or from Pennyhugh about the fact he had failed to show up at the newspaper. Teddy had waited three days, cautious, knowing that it was too good to be true, until a short, fat man had bustled up to the front door and insisted that he explain himself. Teddy had coughed a couple of times, wiped at his eyes and his nose, and successfully gained the rest of the week to work out what he was going to do.

Victoire sat her baby brother down in her lap and he squealed happily, gurgling and smiling.

"I can't believe you didn't turn up at the Prophet when you were supposed to... _and _you got away with it," she said. "They should have written to Harry and told them you hadn't shown up. He would have been mad."

"No, he wouldn't," Teddy replied, "they should have sent to Gran... and maybe even Mrs Weasley."

"They would have been _livid_," Roxanne added, throwing a Quaffle up in the air in front of her face while she lay down in the grass.

Teddy circled something in his notebook, and then hurriedly crossed it out. The entire page was full of ideas and complicated diagrams, all either scribbled out or covered in doodles, and his handwriting was too messy to decipher. He knew that the answer was there, somewhere. He would be able to avoid this stupid internship, and the answer was right under his nose. He was just having some difficulty.

"I just can't believe that you don't want to do it. I hate to sound like Hermione, but it's a great opportunity. I know so many people who love to do it in your place."

"Yes, but how many people do you think would be interested?" Teddy asked.

"I can think of at least three in my year," Victoire said.

"Jenkins on the Quidditch team said something about it," Roxanne added.

"But I need to think of something else" Teddy said, tearing out the page in his notebook with a dramatic flourish, "how to put those people in my place, I mean - how to get them into the Prophet instead of me. I don't think there's..."

And then it hit him. Struck him full in the face like the Knight Bus or a particularly rogue bludger. There was a way. Victoire stared at him as he opened his notebook once more, and wrote down so much so quickly that his knuckles were white from grasping his pen too hard. Teddy scowled at the paper. His thoughts were moving too quickly for his hand to keep up - new ideas kept popping, new waves of creation crashing over his brain. He struggled to get them all down on paper. He started mouthing, and then muttering ideas to himself, over and over, until Victoire told him to stop.

This was it! He was going to do it! He was going to be free!

"What are you going to do?"

"I need to go to St Mungo's, then Weasley Wizard Wheezes," Teddy began. He stood up so the next sentence proved even more impressive, and he felt mighty majestic as Fred stared up at him and the sunlight flooded the old orchard. "I'm going to get my summer back."

* * *

Two boys were sitting in a cafe, both sipping from steaming cups of tea, a piece of chocolate cake sat untouched between them. The cafe was rundown and nearly empty. A girl, chewing gum and playing on her phone, stood behind the till. An old lady frowned at the brightness of one of the boy's coat. It was lime green. The young man didn't seem to care, and seemed to wear it with a sense of pride, rather than with disgust at the garish colour.

The younger boy - wiry and dark haired - slid a fat gold coin across the table to the boy in the green coat.

"But this isn't all..." The older boy said, but the other was too fast for him. He had already placed a photo frame - too large to be kept in his jacket pocket - on the table. The old lady frowned again, and pushed her glasses up her nose. She could have sworn she saw the woman in the picture - a pretty woman with red hair, holding what seemed to be a household broom - wave. She blinked. The picture had definitely moved - but it couldn't have. Maybe it was just her prescription.

The boy with dark hair smirked.

"Now, what do you have to offer?" He said. Green Coat smiled. He pulled a piece of rolled up paper from the inside of his coat and laid it flat upon the table.

"It's all filled in, backdated and everything," he said quietly. The old lady had to lean awkwardly in order to continue listening to their conversation. "You just need to get your parents to sign here."

"Awkward," the other replied. "They're dead."

"Oh, well..." Green Coat said. "Then I guess... I guess I'm sorry."

"No worries," Wiry answered. He didn't seem to be upset. "Happened when I was small. I can just get my godfather to do it, maybe my grandma."

"Your legal guardian."

"Yeah." Green Coat took a bite of chocolate cake, and grimaced. "What do you want it for, anyway?"

"Just a bet," Wiry replied. "Nothing major, just a bit of fun. I have to prove something to my cousin, that's all. Nobody's going to get hurt, or anything - just a playful bit of fun. My cousin thinks that I can't do it, so I have to prove it to her somehow. You know, just a bit of fun."

The old lady smirked. The boy was obviously up to something. She could tell that he wasn't very good at lying; he was too fast when he had an answer up his sleeve, and too aggressive when he had to make something up.

"Is this something to do with that dungeon you blew up? I heard about it from my sister."

She sat up in her seat, almost teetering on the edge to try and hear now. Wiry had blown up a dungeon? A _dungeon?_ Who had a dungeon these days? And who would then decide to blow that dungeon up?

"Right... well. It better not get back to me," Green Coat continued. "You're lucky the healer-in-charge doesn't like doing paperwork and so gives it to us interns. Confirmation certificates are pretty difficult to come by unless you are actually a..."

"All right, Daniels, I know, I know."

"I thought you were though... what with your..."

"Yes, well. Obviously, I'm not."

"But... but this proves you are, so it's fine."

The old lady wondered what on earth they were talking about. Green Coat, or Daniels, slid the framed photograph and the big gold coin into the pocket of his coat. He stood up, buttoning up his coat.

"I've got to get back, my shift starts in five."

"Right."

"I'll see you around, Lupin. And thanks for the photo, I'm a big fan."

The bell dinged as the café door opened and shut. Wiry, or Lupin, ordered another cup of tea, and played absent-mindedly with the piece of dry chocolate cake. He seemed rather lonely, thought the old lady, as she watched him - he seemed to deflate a little while not in the company of others. He took a mouthful of the chocolate cake, grimaced, and forced himself to chew.

"You all right, Mum? Who are you looking at?" Her daughter sat down opposite her, and ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of cake from the girl behind the till.

"Not the chocolate, darling."

* * *

**WANTED! Are you interested in working at the Daily Prophet? Is your dream to become a journalist, a photographer, or maybe an editor? If so, then the only reason you should in this shop is to sign below. **

**First and one time offer! The Daily Prophet is now offering a weeklong internship to six Hogwarts students. This opportunity may shape your future career and be invaluable to you in terms of connections and experience! They are looking for hard-working, diligent candidates and will not accept anything less than the best. Must be free from the 20****th**** July to the 30****th**** August.**

**NB: applicants should be male - the editor is notoriously sexist**

**NB: applicants must be able to keep a secret - no mucking about**

"There you go," George Weasley said, beaming, as he tacked the purple poster to the inside of his shop window. "Should get a few people's attention."

"Thanks, George."

"No problem, my man. What exactly is it that you're up to? I've never heard of the Prophet doing work experience."

"Just a bit of fun, that's all."

George frowned. "It isn't something to do with that dungeon you blew up?"

People had to stop asking Teddy that - yes, it was to do with his punishment, but it was almost as if the dungeon catastrophe was the only thing he was being remembered for. Teddy didn't want it to be his legacy - it wasn't even his fault. He'd much rather be remembered for that time he replicated his uncle's portable swamp, or even that time he stole Slughorn's crystallized pineapple - he'd rather be remembered for sub-par pranks like that, than for something his cousin messed up.

"Your son blew it up, actually."

George shrugged. "He's young, he'll learn."

"But you were already smuggling stuff from Honeydukes and stealing your dad's car and breaking Harry out of Muggle jail when you were fourteen!"

"Those were different times, Ted, there was two of me," he said smiling reminiscently. "And I didn't break your godfather out of jail - it was his aunt and uncle's house."

"Same difference! There were bars on the windows! And without magic as well!"

"Oh, you know how I love it when you flatter me," George said, smirking. "But seriously, give Fred time. He's still learning. He's got too much of his mother's work ethic, which is the obvious issue. You've got to squash it out of him."

"How come I've got to do it?" A customer bustled in between them, carrying a large stack of Skiving Snackboxes and smart answer quills. Obviously he was preparing for the new school term earlier.

"You picked him as your successor, he's your responsibility."

"He's your son!"

"And the day Fred listens to a word I say is the day I disown him. He's too much like his namesake."

"Does he have any of your genes, then?" Teddy asked, but there was a bang and then a loud shout from the upper floor, and George was already halfway up the stairs.

"Well, obviously he's very good-looking," he shouted down.

Teddy sighed. He suddenly felt extraordinarily frustrated. He scowled at a couple of first years that were lurking around the love potions, and they immediately stopped giggling. This whole endeavor was requiring a lot of effort - too much to avoid a punishment for a crime he didn't even commit. Grabbing a couple of blocks of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Teddy slammed three sickles onto the counter and opened the door to leave.

A couple of serious looking boys were staring at the poster in the shop window. Their hair was neatly parted, and their jumpers were tied around their shoulders in a thoroughly stupid way that made Teddy scowl even more.

"They've already got their applicants," he said loudly, pointing at the sign. The two boys bustled off.

Teddy bought an ice cream and it made him feel better.

* * *

"Hello, I'm Teddy Lupin. I'm here for the internship?"

Dennis looked up from his desk.

The boy was short and stocky, and sported a shock of ginger hair that sat on top of a rather round face. He was wearing a smart suit, and carrying a leather satchel - and looked far too eager and keen for someone who was being forced to come here. He looked too put together, too neat and tidy, for the serial mischief-maker described to Dennis by Pennyhugh.

Dennis knew something was wrong from the start.

"Right. Sit down, then," he replied.

The boy promptly did so, perching on the very edge of his seat, his hands neatly clasped in his lap.

Dennis stared at him. He didn't know quite what to do with him now the boy was here, but he could help but feel this sense of unease. Teddy Lupin was a serial mischief-maker - he'd heard that much from the junior interns who'd been witness to his shenanigans at Hogwarts. Lupin had already skipped a week of his punishment by pretending to be in bed with the flu.

The boy seated in front of him was already flicking through the latest copy of the Prophet.

"So... so you know why you're here, I guess."

"Oh, yes," he replied. "I severely endangered the lives of my teachers and my fellow students, and this is my punishment. This internship will help me focus, and put me back on the right path. I relish the opportunity to help others and work in a team and hone my leadership skills."

Dennis stared at him - there was no way this was the right boy. He had never seen a picture of Teddy Lupin, but unless the boy had some sort of memory modification charm that had severely altered his personality, this was not the same person.

He pulled a sheet of parchment from his draw, and dipped his quill in the ink.

"What's your name again? Your full name?"

"Edward Remus Lupin."

"And your date of birth?"

"6th April, 1998."

Dennis wrote it all down.

"So what particular potions do you use..."

"What did you use to blow it up?" Dennis said, not looking up from his sheet of paper. "The dungeon, I mean. What did you use to cause so much damage? You were making a potion, and you added the wrong ingredient and it exploded. What ingredient was it?"

The boy frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Well, I... I guess... I think it was an Ashwinder egg - I added it to an infusion of wormwood and rat's liver, and things went mad." The boy gave an odd little laugh that seemed to die in his throat.

Dennis dropped his quill and looked up at him. He had just lied - that, or didn't know the real answer to the question.

The boy cleared his throat. "I was wondering if, possibly, and only if you're happy with it, I could learn the basics in a week or so, and then develop my skills from there? It would be really helpful if I got to grips with photograph and editing in this first week, and then tried more challenging stuff after that?"

Dennis ignored him.

"Have you ever made or taken Polyjuice Potion?"

"No, I don't..."

"Do you know any spells regarding concealment and disguise?"

"Well, I think... no. I don't."

"Are you a Metamorphmagus?"

The boy sat up in his seat, suddenly bright-eyed and keen. "Yes! Yes I am! How did you know?"

"I'll need to see your confirmation certificate," Dennis replied. "Now."

He produced a roll of parchment from his leather satchel and handed it to Dennis. There was proof that the boy was a Metamorphmagus. There was a healer's signature, and there was Lupin's date of birth. The parchment even had a little wear and tear to it, as if it was actually seventeen years old. Dennis searched for the signature of the parent or guardian, and found it at the bottom.

_Harry Potter._

Dennis stared at the name, scrawled on the dotted line.

"When did your parents die, Lupin?"

"Err... what?"

"It was definitely after you were born, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, yes..." the boy looked thoroughly confused. "They died in the Battle of Hogwarts, about a month after I was born..."

"So I assume they were both there for your birth," Dennis said. He sounded spiteful and angry, but really he was just impressed by the true Teddy's effort to ditch responsibility. "I assume that they would have signed this Metamorphmagus certificate, because they were your parents, and were living and breathing and healthy at the time - am I correct in assuming that?"

"Well, yes. I think so."

"So why has Harry Potter signed it?"

The boy's bottom lip began to wobble dangerously. He didn't even try to explain the mistake, instead rocking backwards and forwards in his chair. He grasped the handle of his satchel furiously.

"I don't... I don't know what..."

Dennis raised one eyebrow. The boy asked, gasping, for a glass of water.

"Just tell me what happened," Dennis said.

* * *

"There were six of them," the real Teddy Lupin explained, digging through a box of peppermint toads. "They all signed up at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and I hand-picked them personally. I gave them some schpeel about actually doing work experience, then dropped the bomb later."

"That they would be part of some elaborate prank?" Dennis Creevey asked, ignoring the toads hopping realistically in his stomach.

"Something like that. All of them were fine with it, and were happy with working here for a week each. William Bogart - the one you met - he would tell all you people that I was a Metamorphmagus, and that's why I could get away with having six different people be me."

Dennis nodded. "It's quite impressive."

"I had a contact at Mungo's draw me up a confirmation certificate. Well done for spotting the Harry Potter thing. Bogart was meant to say that we lost the original but he cracked under the pressure."

"And are you actually a Metamorphmagus?"

Teddy looked down, and brushed the sugar off his lap. "Afraid not."

As he picked up another peppermint toad, Dennis admired the boy. He was tall and lean and wiry, with dark hair that fell into his eyes. A ghost of a smirk seemed to constantly play around his lips, and his eyes were bright with the prospect of something new, something exciting. This boy would be constantly on the search for more _fun, _and Dennis could imagine him leaving behind his friends and loved ones as he got swept up in the anticipation.

"Aren't you meant to be teaching me something?" he asked.


End file.
